


First Repairs

by loversandantiheroes



Series: Panacea [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-adjacent, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, HOORAY, Implied Claustrophobia, Lyrium Addiction, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, cullen.exe has stopped working, idiots pining via messenger raven, implied trauma, that goddamn hole in cullen's roof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-02 02:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loversandantiheroes/pseuds/loversandantiheroes
Summary: Cullen attempts to come clean about coming clean, with some minor complications thanks to structural damage.  An expanded version of Perseverance's first cutscene.





	1. Chapter 1

_It is duty.  She holds station above you and must be informed.  Duty. Nothing more._

The messenger had left Cullen’s office with a missive for Aadhlei some time ago.  Their newly appointed Inquisitor was set to leave Skyhold for Crestwood to meet Hawke’s Grey Warden contact within the week.  He’d worked at her side for weeks since she had led them to Skyhold, more than enough time to spare for a simple conversation.  But simplicity seemed increasingly elusive for him around her, and he had held back.

Cullen leaned heavily on his desk, a broad thing of gleaming reddish wood.  Atop a stack of papers lay his old lyrium kit, open and horribly inviting. There was already one prepared bottle inside, a tiny gleam of calm, inviting blue.  His head was pounding, a relentless pressure in his temples. And this...this would make it stop. How easy it would be, how simple. No effort required at all.  And yet his hands, for all their trembling, did not shift. Impulse with no action.

He could do this.

A knock came.  Cullen felt his stomach clench.  “Come in.”

The door hinges creaked.  Light footsteps, she always walked on the balls of her feet.  “You wanted to see me, Commander?”

_Duty_ , he thought again, fighting to swallow the lump that had formed in his too-dry throat.  Oh yes, most assuredly.

“As leader of the Inquisition,” he began, words so well-rehearsed he felt as though he’d given her this speech a thousand times already.  But now hearing them delivered they sounded hollow and unworthy and he collapsed into a sigh. “There’s something I must tell you.”

He straightened, folding his hands onto the pommel of his sword.  Across the desk, Aadhlei regarded him with a bemused smile. “You’re looking especially serious today,” she said, a gentle jab meant to disarm, to soften.

“I know,” he said grimly.

The playfulness slipped slowly from her smile, a little knot forming in her brow.  “Alright. You have my attention.”

“Thank you.”  Cullen lent himself over the desk again to stare at the open kit.  There was concern in her eyes now and it was quite simply too much.  In his head he found his script again and began to recite. “Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well.  Those cut off suffer - some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here. But I no longer take it.”

Silence.  He couldn’t look up.  He didn’t want to know what he would see in her face.  Then, nearly a whisper: “What?”

“I stopped when I joined the Inquisition.  It’s been months now.”

_“Months!_  Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wanted to.”

“That’s, oh damn it.  Cullen if this can kill you -”

“It hasn’t yet.”

She stood, quiet and still, eyes closed and head bent.  “Will you at least tell me why?”

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t….  I will not be bound to the Order - or that life - any longer.”  Again he stood, pride overriding shame, and met her eyes sternly.  “Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk.  I have asked Cassandra to watch me. If I become unable to fulfill my duties, if my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

Her eyes ticked over him, the assessing gaze of a healer, looking for anything amiss, anything she could fix.  “Are you in pain?”

“I can endure it.”

For a moment Cullen was sure she was half a step from boxing his ears.  But then it passed, leaving only that worry that creased her brow and left her chewing at her lip.  “If I can help you in any way,” she began.

“You have more than enough on your plate right now without having to worry about me.  We have physicians here. If it truly becomes more than I can bear, I will seek their assistance.”  The urge to close the distance between them, to take her hands in his own, was sudden and nearly overwhelming, like the need to draw breath under too-deep water.  For fear of drowning, he allowed himself a moment of softness instead. “I have to do this,” he said as gently as he dared. “If...if there is to be a future outside the Order, for _anyone_ , I must try.”

“Fuck’s sake, you won’t make this easy, will you?”  There was a shine in her eyes that hurt him to look at.  She leveled an accusatory finger at him. “You’re a tit. I hope you know that.  I’ve half a mind to put a boot to your arse for not telling me sooner. But…if it is that important to you, Cullen -”

“It is.”

“Then I respect your decision.”

A little of the pressure thudding in his temples abated, and he blew out a sigh of relief.  “Thank you. The Inquisition’s army takes priority. Should anything happen, I would defer to Cassandra’s judgement.”

She nodded slowly, rubbing at her eyes.  Silence stretched on long enough for worry to begin to creep into Cullen’s head.    He opened his mouth to give some reassurance, or to apologize for not coming forward sooner, or most likely let the first thing on his foolish mind fall out in a horrid, jumbled mess.  But before he could speak a sharp, bitterly cold gust of wind came whistling from the room above and swirling through his office. The loose papers on his desk scattered, and he bent to collect them, muttering curses.

“Have you left a window open?” Aadhlei asked, rubbing her arms.

Cullen stiffened, knee to the floor.  “Um,” he stammered, “no? Not, not exactly.  I uh...um.” He looked up just in time to see her begin to shimmy up the ladder.  “Inquisitor! Wait!”

She was unfortunately quick, and with the head start she was up and gone before he had chance to even lay hand on the ladder.  

“Dammit, dammit, _dammit_ ,” he swore, and began to climb.

The sight that greeted him when he hauled himself up into the loft was one that never quite left him.  It was nearly midday, and the sunlight that streamed through the ruined roof was a broad, brilliant gold, alive with dancing motes.  Another gust of wind brought a fresh fall of silver-green leaves from the tree that grew haphazardly from what remained of the roof. She stood in the center of Cullen’s makeshift bedroom, caught full in the sunlight, a frankly impressive scowl on her face as she stared up at the distinct lack of a ceiling.  For the first time, Cullen found himself thinking properly to himself, _Maker help me, she’s beautiful_.

Her eyes strayed at last to the bed, piled thickly with blankets and furs.  “You’re _sleeping_ up here?”

Beyond embarrassed, he stammered for what felt like years before finally managing to strangle out, “Yes.”

She wheeled on him.  “No.”

“I-what?”

“ _No_ ,” she repeated.  Cullen glanced up at her and quickly away again.  There was a familiar look of stubborn indignation on her face, eyes wide and cheeks painted a deep, hectic red.  “I will not have you sleep in a room with no fire and no roof on top of a fucking mountain. The Inquisition cannot afford to have its Commander taken with consumption because he is too proud and too stubborn to ask the carpenters to patch a hole.  You will find temporary quarters with all floors, ceilings, and walls accounted for until this can be fixed, is that understood?”

“Inquisitor, this is hardly-”

Cullen watched her boots stride purposefully into view as she squared up to him.  “I will make it an order if I have to, Commander. Maker’s breath you cannot _live_ like this, let alone recover.”

Cullen finally wrenched his eyes up, dreading to see the disappointment in her eyes, but still the only thing twisting her face was worry.  His heart gave an unexpected lurch. It was awful, and wonderful.

He passed a hand over his face.  “I, I cannot sleep anywhere else.  Closed spaces. I can’t.” He waited, hiding still behind his gloved hand, trying to scrounge together some kind of answers for the questions that would bring.  But the silence stretched on and the questions did not come.

Her teeth set to work on her lip, and she turned again to the hole.  One of Leliana’s ravens lighted on a broken beam and let out a harsh, rusty caw, as if in greeting.  “I could seal it, I think,” she said. “But I don’t expect you’d have any better chance sleeping next to that kind of magic.”  

Cullen stared at her, part of him glad she had turned away again.  The nightmares were only increasing as time went on, and the idea of waking up from the dreams he had to see a magical barrier over his head made him shudder.  He had told her nothing of the nature of his dreams, but it seemed he didn’t have to. She knew, or could guess, and understood. That, somehow more than anything, staggered him.  Consideration was not an unfamiliar concept to him, no matter what some of his colleagues might think. He simply wasn’t used to it being levied in his direction.

“No,” he agreed at last.  “No I wouldn’t.”

She paced for a time, tugging impatiently at her braid.  “I assume offering you my quarters would do no good.”

This time his heart did not so much lurch as freefall.  “Andraste preserve me, I could not. The rumors alone-”

“Thought as much,” she muttered, and this time there was a ghost of a smile as she glanced back at him that did nothing to stop that freefall.  “What about the war room, then? It’s spacious, the door is solid, and half the bloody thing’s windows. Could you sleep there for a time?”

It was his turn to fall to thought.  He leaned heavily against the wall, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.  “I cannot sway you from this, can I?”

“Cullen,” she said, and the sound of his name on her lips left him dizzy.  “I told you I respect what you’re doing, and I mean that. But if I can make this easier on you in any way, I intend to do it.   _Let me do this._  Please.”

“You are making this easier,” he said softly, mouth dry.  “Forgive me, I am unused to kindness.”

She gave him a small, sympathetic smile.  “Around me, I’m afraid you’ll just have to cope.”

He was staring, Andraste help him he was _staring_ but he could not look away.  “I will arrange for a cot in the war room.”

Relief spread across Aadhlei’s face.  “If you have any personal effects in here you don’t want jostled, you should take them down into your office.  I’ll go have a word with our carpenters.”

She turned to leave, dropping to the floor and swinging her feet onto the ladder.

“Aadhlei?” he asked, half on impulse, and half just to once again have the delight of speaking her name.

She smiled at that, small and grateful, and it warmed him more than any fire could.  “Yes?”

“I - thank you.  For this and, well for everything.”

“Of course,” she said, and disappeared down the ladder.

Cullen sank to the edge of his bed, blinking against the sunlight, trying to slow the beating of his heart.  From the broken beam above, the raven once again let out its shrill cry. Cullen pointed a finger at it.

“Not a word, you.  There are some things Leliana doesn’t need to hear about.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minor interlude of ravens and letters when the Inquisitor departs for Crestwood.

As accommodations went it could have certainly been worse.  For the time being he had managed to arrange for a small desk, a cot, a chest for his essentials, and a dressing screen for some degree of privacy.  Josephine had raised more than a few questions about the whole thing, but explaining the Inquisitor’s insistence on the subject seemed to quell most of the ones that made him itch at the thought of explaining.  Aadhlei had her own words with Josephine sometime later, leading the woman off gently by one ruffled arm into an intense conversation that Cullen did his best not to look at too intently. Let her make plans. He was left at least with some reassurance in the fact that, all things considered, it should only take a few days to repair the damage.  Or so he had hoped.

Three days passed with no word on when he might see the inside of his office again, and on the fourth the Inquisitor was set to leave for Crestwood.  She came to him early that morning in the practice yard, pulling him aside with some apology in her eyes and a folded letter in her hand.

Cullen sighed, folding his arms.  “Why do I have the strangest feeling I won’t be getting back to my office any time soon?” he muttered.

The corners of her mouth twisted faintly, and Cullen saw she was just as disappointed as he was.  “I was hoping...I’m sorry, Cullen, it’s going to take a little longer than I’d anticipated.”

“It’s just a bloody _roof_ ,” he protested glumly.  “How long could that possibly take?”

“Just trust me, aye?  Please? I’d not keep you from your own space if it wasn’t for a good reason.”

He opened his mouth to protest that surely they could work _around_ him, it couldn’t be that hard, but there was still that pinched, pleading look on her face, and the air left him in a harsh sigh.  “Alright. If I must.” And then, on the heels of that, as if the thought had been lurking on his tongue and chosen this moment for an escape: “I trust you,” he half-whispered.

Aadhlei smiled, wide and relieved.  “Thank you. I promise, I’ll return you your space as soon as it’s ready, no delays.  No peeking while I’m gone, either, understood?”

Cullen grumbled his agreement, but found himself smiling back just the same.

“We’re leaving shortly, so, before I forget myself like a dottery auld hen.”  She held the letter out to him.

“What is it?”

“Doctor’s orders,” she said, lifting her chin like a challenge, but her voice was just low enough that to be a step further away would’ve lost the words to the sounds of practice drills.  “Should you have need of them. Been doing a bit of reading. There’s a store of remedies I’ve left prepared in the infirmary. Pain, nausea, sleep aids, and something I’m hoping might help with the thirst, but that’s a bit experimental at the moment as I don’t really have anyone to test it on.  Go easy on that one, if you’ve a mind to try it, at least until I can adjust it properly.”

“You didn’t-”

“I did and I have,” she said in a maddeningly gentle tone.  “That’s the end of it and I’ll hear no argument. You’re as stubborn as a bull, Commander, and I know that short of pinching your nose like a wee bairn to get your mouth open there’s little hope in assuring you’ll to take any of these.  But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. If you need them, send a slip to the infirmary. Give them the number of the remedy and they’ll send it up.”

Cullen scratched nervously at his neck, searching for a response and finding nothing.

“Just allow me this, Commander.  I can’t _not_ care.  It goes against my bloody nature.  And I cannot in all good conscience leave Skyhold without at least _trying_ to help.  This is the best compromise I can offer.”

Aadhlei held the letter out again, more insistent this time.  His pride gnawed at him, told him to push the letter and the hand that held it away and let the line be drawn.  Pride and something else, some panicky little part of him that hissed and wailed and begged to hide somewhere out of the reach of the kindness in her eyes.  Yet as soon as the idea came, he knew he could not go through with such a thing. To risk disappointing her, to risk seeing hurt in those eyes instead of that persistent, unwavering hope….  He could not.

“Thank you,” he said, hearing the stiffness in his own voice and hating it.  He took the letter from her carefully, mindful of the distance between their fingertips, and tucked it into his armor.  “I will...keep this in mind.”

“That’s all I ask.  I should go, we’re to be leaving soon,” she said, and waved a hand toward the front gate where the horses had been saddled.

Cullen gave a half bow.  “Safe journeys, Inquisitor,” he said.  “Maker watch over you.”

“Aye, and Creators, too,” she said with a laugh.  “At this point I’ll take whatever help I can get.”  Aadhlei lingered a moment, looking up at him as if trying to make some sort of decision.  He nearly pressed her on it, but then she smiled, shuffled back on her heels, and said simply, “I’ll see you soon.”

Cullen watched her leave and pretended he did not understand why it made him ache.  

 

*  *  *

 

The first raven arrived the next morning, a sizeable thing with a mottled patch of white feathers on its breast that came to roost near Cullen’s morning tea.  At first he took it as one of Leliana’s that had gotten loose, but then noticed the vellum tied to its ankle.

“I suppose that’s for me, then?”

It gave a strangely agreeable croak and hopped closer, extending its leg.  

Cullen chuckled, tugging the knot free.  “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? Leliana ought to give you a pay raise.”

The raven croaked again, a grumbling assent, and shuffled over to dip its beak in Cullen’s tea.

“Alright, if you must.  Not too much, now. If you leave here bouncing with sugar I’ll never hear the end of it.,” he muttered, beginning to read.

He recognized Aadhlei’s handwriting immediately, and for a moment felt a needle of panic over what might cause her to write so soon, and to him directly.  But as he read the panic faded into a warmth that seemed to radiate from the letter itself up through his arms and into his chest.

  


_Cullen -_

_I hope the morning finds you well.  We have made good time thus far. The road seems clear for the season, and if luck holds we should make it to Crestwood proper within a week’s time.  If you don’t mind the distraction, I should like to keep in touch while I am away. I see so many of our scouts and soldiers settling down to evenings with quill and paper to send word to friends and family and it always left an odd ache in my ribs to think I had no one to write to.  None that would care to hear from me, at any rate._

_I can barely credit the feeling to anything passing reason (though in fairness some would argue I’ve been long past that for some time), but I find myself missing your company already.  Enough at the very least, to risk admonishment from our dear spymaster for borrowing one of her birds for the errand. He at least seems a friendly sort, and I’ve convinced him to assist me with a few sweet words and a scant handful of raw peanuts.  Hopefully he won’t run and tell matron on me._

_You have as much to contend with as I do, if not more, and I know you’re not quite the sort for writing letters.  I don’t truly expect you to write back, but unless you object to the idea entirely, I would still like to write you.  If nothing else, perhaps it will give you something to think about beyond trebuchet calibrations. Josephine is beginning to worry about that a bit.  Still, if you can, Cullen, it would do my heart good to hear from you. In the meantime, take care of yourself. Doctor’s orders._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Aadhlei_

_P.S.  No peeking.  You agreed, and I’m holding you to that._

 

Cullen read and re-read the letter, heart dancing madly.   _I find myself missing your company already_.  His thumb grazed over the words, cautious for fear of smudging the ink, conjuring the memory of the deft hands that had penned them.  How strange it was that seven words could leave him feeling adrift and rescued all at once. Denial was of no help now. However strange this feeling was, however unexpected, he knew the nature of it.  And how terrifyingly sweet that knowing was, even if he could not quite bring himself to give a name to the emotion and face it fully.

“Don’t tell Leliana,” Cullen said to the bird as it pecked at the remnants of his breakfast, and reached into his desk for quill and paper.  “But I’ll be needing to borrow you for a bit.”

The letters were steady for the week the Inquisitor’s party spent travelling.  She told him of the weather (dismal, even for those who liked the rain), passed on jokes and messages from Dorian and Varric and once a cryptic line scribbled in the margins in a strange slanting hand he could only attribute to Cole ( _the rose has no thorns to hurt the lion, shapes shelter, hopes to heal, only wants to see him grow)_.  But here and there would creep in a line of hope or worry, or a gentle, uncomplicated reminder of her regard and care, and Cullen would set to a restless pacing until his heart calmed.  

It did not come easy, but he did write back.  The floor beside his temporary desk became home to piles of crumpled scraps of vellum as he struggled to return her letters in earnest.  For every letter sent there were at least ten more of its brothers fallen on the floor. One note joined the pile for its forwardness, another for being too impersonal.  The thought of saying the wrong thing left him horribly frustrated. All too many of Cullen’s breakfasts were spent disconsolately feeding their feathery co-conspirator peanuts over that growing pile of discarded words.

The letters slowed a pace after the arrival at Crestwood, supplanted by a far more official report that came through Leliana’s tower.  The Warden, at least, was en route to Skyhold with Hawke and Varric. Aadhlei had remained behind, preoccupied with a fade rift in the lake, a small horde of undead, a local keep that had been taken over by bandits, and, just to really round things out, a dragon that was happy to pick off whatever creatures managed to survive the previous two.  On the fourth morning after Aadhlei’s arrival in Crestwood, however, Cullen turned at the sound of a flapping of wings to find his white-breasted friend coming to roost near the remains of his toast.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he said shakily, scattering a few peanuts for the bird out of a bag in a desk drawer.  

He was in the middle of untying the letter from the raven’s ankle when Leliana called out from the doorway.  “Forgive me for delaying his visitations, Commander.”

“Oh!  Leliana, I uh…”  Startled, the roll of vellum nearly slipped from his fingers and he made a fumbled grab for it.

The spymaster regarded him coolly, a knowing smile on her face.  “I suppose there was a reason you were taking one of my birds? Repeatedly?  Without record?” Leliana asked.

 _Bad time to be a canary when the cat’s smiling,_ Cullen thought.  “Borrowing,” he said, a little indignantly.  “It’s not the same thing.”

“No?”

“W... _I_ only needed him for a time.  I was going to return him.” Cullen had a maddening urge to hide the roll of vellum behind his back, as if he were a child who had been caught stealing the last pastry.

“Oh?  And when were you planning to do that?”

Cullen fell to stammering.  The raven cocked its head to look at him with something that almost passed for pity.  “Um. S-soon, I expect?”

Leliana nodded thoughtfully.  “Well,” she mused. “Perhaps you should keep him.  Then you would not need to borrow him.”

Cullen couldn’t quite disguise his surprise at that.  “You’re...giving him to me?”

“It seems the simplest solution.  Besides, I think he likes you,” she paused, then added sweetly, “Almost as much as he likes our dear Inquisitor.”

He felt a blush burning at his cheeks and ears.  “I should’ve expected you’d know.”

“I should be offended,” she said with an indulgent grin.  “But quite frankly it’s adorable you thought yourself so discreet.”

He ignored the teasing and bent to gently scratch at the raven’s head.  “What’s his name?”

“This one is Aster.”

“Aster,” he repeated.  The bird clicked its beak at him, as if in belated greeting.  “A good choice. Pleased to meet you properly.”

“I will have someone bring down his cage and food.  Have you cared for birds before?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“Then I will have some instructions prepared for you on the matter.”  Leliana stepped in closer, a little of the levity slipping from her face as she did.  “If you don’t mind me speaking candidly for a moment, Commander?”

He let out a noise that was more of a huff than a chuckle.  “You say that as if I could stop you.”

Leliana only nodded as if accepting a general truth.  “It was a hard road that got us here. Yours, I know, was harder even than most.  We still have a great deal ahead of us, and I do not think any of it will be easy.  If you should find yourself with a chance to wrest any sort of happiness out of the world in that time, Commander, you should take it.”

Cullen stared at her for several long moments, waiting for the inevitable punchline at his expense before realizing there wasn’t one.  Leliana was being completely genuine. He shook his head in disbelief. “That is...frankly I was expecting a dressing down, or shameless mocking.  I’m not sure what to make of it when you’re being nice to me.”

“I can mock you at any time, Commander.  This situation called for a bit of sincerity.   As for the dressing down, I believe I will leave such matters to _her._ ”

He groaned.  “Maker’s breath, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Truly, how do you expect me not to tease you when you make it so easy?”

“Yes, alright alright.  If you’re done harassing me, I should really...” he trailed off, gesturing with Aadhlei’s letter.

“Oh, yes, quite done.  Josephine really only needed you distracted for a moment to assure the Inquisitor’s instructions were carried out to order.”

Cullen gawked.  “I- you sneaky little….”

Giggling, Leliana turned on her heel and walked out the door.  “Quite right,” she called over her shoulder. “That is my job, after all.  I believe you have a letter to be reading, Commander. I’ll leave you to it.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lapse in communication weighs on the Commander’s mind as the Inquisitor makes her way back to Skyhold.

_Cullen -_

_You’ll never believe it.  We took down the dragon. She was a gorgeous thing, fierce and bloody terrifying and I regretted every hit, but she was already too bold in her feedings, and lacking means to direct her to a feeding ground less populated by people, we did what we had to.  I thought dragons all breathed fire, but this one belched lightning at us, of all bloody things. Dorian's mustache has been standing on end for the past two days. Frankly so has Bull, but that’s an entirely different and slightly concerning story. At least two scouts and one barmaid left his tent during the celebrations last night.  I thank the Maker and Creators both that the musicians we found were excessively loud. But that is the last of it. The Keep is ours for the time being, the rifts are closed, and the Mayor, despicable man, has fled. We leave for Skyhold in the morning. I intend to spend as much time on this journey sleeping as anyone will let me. Pray I do not fall off my horse!_

_I don’t think I’ve thanked you for writing back, which is frankly terrible.  It’s meant more to me than I can tell you on paper or parchment. It has made things so much lighter to return to camp and see Aster perched on the roof of my tent waiting for me.  He won’t let the scouts collect your letters, have I told you? I had to offer a bandage and apology to one poor sod who tried and got rather aggressively pecked on the nose._

_I have word from the workers, and the renovations on your quarters should be finished around the time I return.  A relief to us both, I’m sure. I’m relieved more just to be returning. I have missed you._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Aadhlei_

 

The letter folded easily along well-worn creases as Cullen tucked it once again into his vest.  The scouts had sent word ahead; the Inquisitor’s party approached Skyhold. He kept to the practice yard, teeth clamped on the inside of his lip as he paced through the ranks, stopping to bark an order or kick a feckless recruit’s feet into the proper stance, but his eyes returned again and again to the main gate, waiting for movement, for an approach of horses.  For her.

The letter he carried was the last he had received.  He’d carried on writing every morning at breakfast, found a bit of triviality to discuss with what he hoped was passing interest, assured her that he still had not entered his office and would not do so until she returned and they could do so together.  Aster returned to him every morning unruffled, but with nothing on his ankle but that thin leather strip. They had enough scouts on the road to know the Inquisitor was still en route, and nothing seemed to be amiss, but the silence left an awful building pressure in his chest.  After the second day with no response he was left to wonder if he should persist. He sat in strained thought, trying to recall every word he had sent her, looking for one that might have offended, wondering if he should or even could apologize when he was unsure of his offense.

In the end, he couldn’t stop himself.  He wrote to her, again and again. Each letter an apology for its predecessor, and each a little more desperate and personal than the last until finally he seemed to strike some wellspring in himself.  The last letter he wrote had been an awful, needy thing, a declaration of wants from a man who had forgotten how to want, or that such a thing was allowed. Too forward by miles, and barely a thimbleful of what ran through his head at the thought of her.  He begged for any kind of answer, even if the answer was an order to cease. The silence was just too much.

And then the report came of her approach, and he had been spared.  The thought of chucking the damned letter into Josephine’s fireplace as he walked out for inspections was maddeningly tempting, but the ambassador was already entertaining new dignitaries from Orlais, and he didn’t dare risk the intrusion.  He’d left it half-wadded in the pouch of his vest instead, and endeavored to forget about it.

The cheer from the courtyard made the muscles in his back tighten.  People began to form up on either side of the main gate as horses filed through.  Four Inquisition soldiers rode in on Ferelden Forders, two abreast, and behind them followed the Inquisitor, riding straight with her hair unbound on a dappled Dalish All-Bred.  His feet carried him an unthinking step forward before his head interfered, spilling the contents of so many letters across his thoughts and halting him in his tracks. He turned away sharply, bitterly, and paced the length of the practice yard again.   _Coward, coward, oh you bloody coward._

When he had made a full circuit, the Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen.  Iron Bull stood proudly by a heavy cart laden with thick, heavy bundles of some sort of leather or skin and a massive lump of _something_ covered in a waxed canvas tarpaulin.  Bull pulled the canvas back with a surprising flourish to uncover a dragon’s head, rusty brown and tinged in a deep purple along the horns.  For a moment that offered enough of a distraction to forget his distress. Maker’s breath but it was _huge_ .  That they had fought the beast - that _she_ had fought the beast - and lived was-

“Commander?”  One of the soldiers from the retinue jogged up, thumping his fist to his breastplate.

“What is it?” he asked, irritation making it a growl.

“The Inquisitor requests your presence, ser.  She asks you meet her in your office.”

His eyes flew up automatically, searching, and found the shape of her against the east door, the two guards there bowing and filing away as if on order.  Cullen nodded, or at least he thought he did. The sound of his heartbeat filled his ears and made thinking too difficult, hammering hard enough to leave his fingers tingling as he fought to keep an even stride as he made his way across the courtyard and up the stairs to the wall.

Aadhlei stood with her back to the wooden door, chin up, smiling as Cullen approached.

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.  “Inquisitor,” he said, nodding, mouth suddenly dry.  “You... seem pleased. The work has been completed to your approval, I take it?”

“It has.  I hope to yours as well, _Commander_.”  The blush on her cheeks deepened, threatening to turn purple.  He couldn’t read her. She seemed all nerves, but so was he. Strung out on the possibilities that hung between rejection and...whatever else there might be for him with her.  He didn’t dare hope. Aadhlei reached behind her and swung the door open. “After you.”

She followed behind a pace back as Cullen stepped inside, closing the door behind them.  He caught a scent of her as the breeze cut through just before the door shut, a salt smell of sweat under sunlight and a lingering trace of warm herbs.  A good smell, a _her_ smell, but an exhausted one.  Was she not sleeping well? Was that why- he clenched his fists against the thought.   _Matter at hand, Rutherford, attend to the matter at hand._   He stood for a moment as his eyes adjusted.

“Oh.  Alright, that is...new,” he said, surprised.

The ladder to the loft was gone.  A wooden stairwell was now fitted in the corner of the room, leading to the upper floor.  Cullen glanced back at her, confused.

“I’ve been reading up.  Everything I could find on lyrium withdrawals.  Which, I have to say is a grievously small amount.  But I couldn’t hope to help you when I didn’t know what you would need.  Having an easier way to get to your bed if you’re in a bad way, that seemed a good place to start.”

He blinked at her, the letters forgotten, hopelessly at a loss for words.  The tension in his back began to unravel slowly. Maker, no wonder it had taken so long.  “You d- you didn’t have to,” he stuttered out at last.

“Aye, well.  I wanted to.”  She slipped passed him and up the stairs.  “Come on,” she said, Starkhaven coming alive in her voice, a peculiar transmutation of vowels that never failed to charm him.  “Time you saw why this took so bloody long.”

He followed after her, hesitant, but intrigued.

“Maker, just tell me you haven’t ordered some fancy Orlesian bed or something, I don’t need - oh.”

Cullen froze at the top of the landing, hand on the banister, eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

The roof had been repaired, that he could see from the stairs easily enough.  A section of the stonework less worn, the mortar between far lighter. The room still seemed surprisingly bright, and as he reached the top, he saw why.  In the center of the ceiling there now sat a large, round skylight of Orlesian glass. The center was clear, and gave a fine view of pale blue sky and shifting clouds, but around the edges played a scene of unmistakably Ferelden origin, full of tall pines and running mabari.

A moment stretched on, Cullen still standing there motionless and slack-jawed.  

Aadhlei fell to chattering nervously, pressed into a corner.  “We couldn’t put a fireplace in on such short notice, so you’ve got a wood burning stove instead.  The bed’s the same, though I did ask they dredge up a mattress that was less reminiscent of a potato sack.  I didn’t know what you’d need beyond that, so I had them stick to essentials. Wash stand, bath tub, wardrobe, small work table you can use for food or tea if you’ve a mind.  If you need more than that, I can have it arranged, but I was assuming simple was the best guess.”

“You did this?” he asked, confounded.  
  
“Well.  Had done.  I’m no carpenter.  Or glazier. But aye.  I don’t know if it’s enough to help with the closed spaces, but it was the best I could think of.  Josephine called in a few favors in Val Royeaux, made a few promises of exclusive deals for any further glass work needed.  Muggins me didn’t quite understand how long such a thing takes to make, which, between that and the stairs is why it took so bloody long to get you back in here.  I never meant for it to take so long,” she added, the apology a little too plaintive, as if there was anything to apologize for.

“You did this,” he repeated incredulously.   His eyes were shining as he pulled them away from the skylight to stare sun-dazzled at her, his next words snagging on his lips like wool on steel.  “For me?”

“I-yes.”

“I don’t -” he started, then broke off, and swallowed hard.  “I have no idea what to say.”

“You haven’t got to say anything.  You needed this. I’m just glad I could do it.”  She laid a hand on his arm, finding the stretch of leather at his elbow where he could feel the muted pressure of her touch.  “I hope it helps.”

She turned to leave, fingers trailing down his arm, and a mad sort of panic filled him.  He caught her wrist and nearly pulled her to him, an impulse immediately quelled and reduced to the faintest tug.  “Thank you,” he said. His heart stammered in his throat, a harsh percussion that made it difficult to speak. “This is, Maker’s breath, I don’t have the words.”  She bore his gaze and halting words with a strange, patient anticipation. “No one,” he said at last, “has ever done anything like this for me before.”

Her hand twisted in his, fingertips pressing against his wrist, and a pleasant buzzing hum filled his head.  “Will you walk with me a moment, Commander?” she asked. “I think I could use a little air.”

Cullen dropped her hand instantly, nodding his assent before his mouth could catch up with a response.  “I, uh, of course.”

He followed her outside, rubbing at the back of his neck with a shaking hand.  “It’s a nice day,” he stammered as they moved into the sunlight, a giddy rush of air that very nearly made words..

“What?” Aadhlei turned to him, and Cullen felt his thoughts slip away again.

“I...you, there was something you wished to discuss?” he managed.  It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe the longer her eyes stayed locked on his.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said, hand straying to one of the pouches at her hip.  From it she pulled a stack of vellum, some worried soft with folding, but some crisper, newer, still half-rolled.  Cullen felt abruptly as if the floor was falling away. “I slept most of the way back to Skyhold. Didn’t realize I was that exhausted until I had the chance to sit down for longer than a minute, I suppose.  For the record, just in case you’re ever asked, dragon hide does not make a comfortable bed. Berand, the scout that Aster pecked up, he collected your letters for me on the way back. Apparently picked up my trick with the peanuts.  I only got to read them this morning.”

Cullen stood stock still, barely breathing.  “I see.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” she said, face shifting to something softer.

Cullen reached into his vest for her letter, meaning to show her the worn folds that matched some of the papers in her hand, the wear that gave him an absurd, aching hope.  As he pulled his hand free he felt something else come with it, a tangled, wadded scrap that fell bouncing to the stones to land at Aadhlei’s feet.

_Oh Maker, no._

Had it been a battle, or even a barroom brawl, he would’ve been quick enough to snatch the letter back.  But as it was his brain was sluggish with so many thoughts that bent in a single direction and could only stare horrified as Aadhlei picked up the mangled letter, saw her name at the top, and began to read.

He couldn’t move.  Couldn’t speak. Could, in all truth do little but stand there dumbly, feeling the blood drain from his face as he watched her eyes tick carefully across the page.  The color in her cheeks, however, deepened and spread, a flush that left every inch of exposed skin a deep, rosy red. He watched her eyes catch on a line, stumble back to re-read it.  Her free hand came up to her mouth as she fell back a step to lean heavily against the battlements.

“Maker’s breath,” she whispered.  “Cullen-”

“I wasn’t going to send that one,” he said stupidly.  “I mean I- when you didn’t respond I may have panicked a little.”

She fell silent, and Cullen felt himself suspended again on that fine thread of hope between her silence and the deep flushing of her skin.  “Did you mean it?” she asked, staring up at him, eyes a dazzlingly bright green in the sunlight. “Nevermind the sending of it. When you wrote me this, did you mean it?”

He swallowed hard, heard a dry click, and took a tentative step forward.  “Yes,” he nearly croaked.

The hand that hovered near her mouth trembled.  “I had worried.”

About what?”

“If you could ever trust a mage enough to care for one.  If it was even something you could consider.”

“I could,” he said, and he could barely hear for his own heartbeat.  “I mean, I do,” he stammered.   _Maker help me, I can scarcely think of anything else._  His embarrassment left him desperate to hang his head, but there was a light in her face now, a hope, that he couldn’t turn away from.  

“So what’s stopping you?”

“I had a duty to uphold.  To the Inquisition, to our people.  And you. Duty spares little thought for wanting.  I didn’t think it was possible.” He took another cautious, experimental step towards her.  “Or that you might think of me...or feel...”

“Since Haven,” she said simply.  “That day in front of the Chantry.”

That left his ears ringing with a force like he’d been punched in the temple.  He shifted forward another step on numb feet. “It seems too much to ask,” he said, reaching out, hands finding her hips and marveling when she moved toward him and not away.  “Maker help me, I want to.”

“Commander!”

Cullen froze, for a moment close enough to smell something sweet and vaguely floral on her skin.  As he opened his eyes he saw Aadhlei fold up, stuffing the letters hurriedly into her pouch and dropping her now bright red face into her hands.

_You cannot be serious.  Not now. Of all times._

“Message for you ser!”  

“ _What?_ ” he growled.  The messenger still had his head bent to the report tucked in his elbow and was paying no attention whatsoever to the scene he had just strolled into.  Cullen stalked up, fists clenched at his sides, incensed not just for the interruption but for the _intrusion._

The messenger nearly walked into Cullen’s breastplate.  “Oh! Sorry, sir. Sister Leliana’s report for you. You said you wanted it right away.”  He held the missive out, a touch of nervousness in his voice as he registered the look on the Commander’s face.

Cullen said nothing, he just glowered, a roadblock made of armor and leonine fur, and jerked his eyes meaningfully in the direction the messenger had come.

The messenger, for his part, at least had the decency to shuffle backward, nervousness turning to actual fear - for his rank, at the very least, if not his safety.  The man’s eyes darted over Cullen’s shoulder to where the Inquisitor stood and Cullen immediately shifted to block his view. “Ah!” he cried as realization hit him like a trebuchet.  “Or, to your office! Yes ser, right away!”

Cullen nodded in fuming agreement and watched the man back away like an actor in a pantomime, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to make it through the tower door.

Aadhlei had taken to watching the ravens casting off from the eastern tower, the tips of her ears a burning red.  She turned only slightly as he neared, and he could sense either apology or pardon on her lips even before she began to speak.  She got as far as his name and that was all, that was _enough_.  They were still at war, no guarantees could be made for their life and safety, and the thought that whatever chance they had could slip away and be lost because of one badly timed messenger was too much.  Something in him broke, another chain falling away, and without a second thought he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

She went briefly rigid, the sound of her surprise muffled by his mouth, but then the tension drained away and her hands laced around the back of his neck.  She gave a soft, vague sound, a hum or a muted sigh, and he moved forward, pressing her into the stone, mouth open and teeth skimming to catch her bottom lip.  Half-startled by his own boldness he pulled away, the mountain air doing precious little to ease the burning of his face, hands releasing her tentatively. Only enough to look at her, to speak.  To be _sure_.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, astonished by the lightness in his own voice.  “That was, um, that was really nice.”

Her hands clasped one of his as he drew back and held him there.  “Regrets?” she asked, eyes wide and cautious.

He sighed and swayed into her with the breath.  “None.”

“Good,” Aadhlei nodded.  She pulled her gloves off and stroked a hand across his cheek, nails rasping through his stubble like sandpaper, then further and further to wind into the small dark blond curls at the back of his neck and pull him down to her.  “Because I really wasn’t ready for you to stop.”

 


	4. Epilogue

_The hands that clutch at him are sharp, the points of them squealing against his armor, shredding the leather at his joints, cutting neatly into the flesh beneath.  It is a seeking touch, scrabbling for the bits and pieces it wants. The face above him is achingly pretty and a deep violet, with wide, slender horns that curve out from the brow. It shifts, form uncertain, undecided, the jaw widening to something more masculine, eyes more hooded, then back to the foxish chin and alarmingly inviting mouth that leer down at him.  All around is fire and lightning and blood and screaming. So many voices raised in fear and anguish, pleading mercy, gibbering and bleating like sheep in a slaughtering pen, collapsing into rasps and gurgles. So many of those voice belong to his friends._

_He prays, covering his head, trying to turn away from that face and those awful hands.  The thing laughs._

Perhaps another face will warm you, my sweet, _it says, tittering._

_He twists, but the face follows.  The hair, now a rich brown, tumbles past bare shoulders to cover its breasts.  The face widens, skin ruddy and sun-touched, a malevolent, lascivious hunger glinting in familiar wide green eyes.  He roars, trying to buck the thing off, but it only laughs again, claws cutting deeper into the meat by his hip bones._

_And then all at once they fall away, and the sounds of the charnel house Kinloch has become fall away with them.  The pain eases with a wash of coolness like spring rain, and the eyes that look out of that face are gentle and_ hers.

Be easy, _she says, placing a graze of a kiss on his burning forehead_.  It's a nightmare, no more.  Look up.

 

* * *

 

He came awake with a half-choked shout, the Chant a desperate litany on his lips, hands scrabbling at empty air.  The only sound in his ears was the thin, high whistling of wind outside, and his own heartbeat.   _Skyhold_ , he reminded himself, fighting to untwist his legs from the bedclothes with shaking hands.  Pressure in his chest, not enough air, the old familiar vise grip feeling around his ribcage, stomach roiling.   _Not the Circle, not the Gallows.  Skyhold._

_Look up._

Light, pale and silvery, spread across the bed.  Knuckling the tears and sweat from his eyes, Cullen followed the light up to see the moon, nearly full, drifting slowly across a darkened sky.  But where he had grown accustomed to the view through a ragged hole of broken wood and the accompanying blast of bitter, icy air that drove him to shivering, there was instead the sharp outline of a domed window.   Moonlight glinted off the edges of the glass, the rough-blocked shapes of sprinting dogs and tall pines painted shades of blues and grays. The fire in the stove was low, a faint crackle, but enough to keep the chill away.

Relief swept through him in a wave, the clenching feeling around his ribs spasmed once, then faded, leaving a tingling lightness.  The memory of her returned, standing just a few feet from where he now lay, smiling in the sunlight, and the sweetness of her mouth on the battlements after.   _Since Haven_ , she'd said.  Cullen fell back, eyes to the sky, suddenly overwhelmed, the lightness in his chest growing to an almost unbearable point, as if he could drift away into the moonlight with it.  

_For me_ , he thought, staring up at the open sky, tears still leaking steadily down past his ears.   _She did this for me._  

“Thank you,” he whispered.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Maker, thank You.”

Even now, in the silence of an empty room, he could not bear to unpack the words growing steadily in his ribs.  And so he prayed. He prayed in plaintive thanks for her presence, a prayer for her safety, and a prayer for the strength to protect her when he could. And with that prayer on his lips, he fell again to sleep.

He awoke to a pale dawn, and remembered no more dreams that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next part of "Perseverance" will pick up with a fic called "Structural Damage." Keep your eyes peeled. Thank you all so much for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> A minor note regarding my Inquisitor: I'm playing a little fast and loose with the canon Lavellan story with her. She was originally a city elf raised in a human orphanage in Starkhaven, and only left to join the Dalish a few years prior to the start of DA:I. This is why she tends to favor Chantry-oriented blasphemes to the Dalish equivalents.


End file.
